


if at first you don't succeed

by shatteredhourglass



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Established James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Established James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Failed Seduction, M/M, Mentioned/Referenced Bondage Kink, Multi, Sam Wilson Can Talk to Birds, Sexual Content, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredhourglass/pseuds/shatteredhourglass
Summary: Bucky likes his life.The first part was a little rocky, sure, and the whole Hydra thing was horrific on a level he still can’t quite process. Somehow he’s managed to tough his way through it anyway, and now he lives in a fancy house with his friends, has a job where he gets to punch people without remorse (delightful) and he has not one but two freakishly hot boyfriends who are also superheroes.So he’s having a pretty good time. Thing is, his boyfriends are also idiots.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 47
Kudos: 236





	if at first you don't succeed

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea that grew out of the latest comics we've gotten - I know we all go 'aha! winterhawk' at the panels but it also becomes 10x funnier if you frame it in the eyes of Bucky trying to get Sam and Clint to smooch too. What do you think of Hawkeye, indeed.

“What’re you doing?”

Clint flinches at the sound of his voice, flails and then overbalances where he’s perched on the rafters. He’s Clint, so he manages to catch himself with one leg still curled over the beam, swinging precariously. It takes him a few minutes to register Bucky’s question and answer it, though.

“I, uh. Nothing?”

“So you’re not drooling over Wilson doing weights?”

“...no,” Clint says, not very convincingly. “C’mere.”

Bucky snorts and shifts into position, holds his arms out as Clint drops neatly from the rafters.

Catching him is a practiced art - he’s got to position his left arm so it doesn’t jab into any of Clint’s soft spots and he’s got to do it without dropping him on the floor either. Some part of Bucky’s brain registers that Clint’s heavy, but the serum makes him feel light as a feather and a smile tugs at him when Clint’s lips press against his cheek in a silent _thank you_.

He shifts Clint in his arms and starts wandering towards the mats they have set up in the corner. Clint’s more than happy to be carried around like a sack of flour, he’s found. Sometimes it’s a sex thing and sometimes it’s a simple desire for touch. Whichever it is, Bucky’s happy to work his way into cuddles and pretend it’s all for Clint’s benefit.

“Hey, Barton,” Sam calls. “Stop stealing my boyfriend, he’s supposed to be helping me.”

Bucky drops Clint on the mats with a thump and looks at him all sprawled out, just for a second.

It’s a pretty nice view.

“You can stay there and watch,” he says decisively.

He doesn’t miss the way Clint’s eyes widen slightly, and he makes sure that Sam takes off his sweater during the workout. He’s allowed to tease a little, even if he plans on addressing it properly later. (Sam knows he’s up to something but he can’t figure it out, so Bucky’s safe to drag Clint off after Sam’s gotten tired.)

Later in bed, he brings it up again.

“If you want to fuck Sam, it’s fine,” Bucky says.

It takes Clint a minute. “What, like a threesome?”

Bucky rolls over and flicks at the silver stud through one of Clint’s nipples. He gets a sharp intake of breath for that and it only encourages him to rub his fingers over it and tug when Clint looks at him, the cornflower blue of his eyes already getting swallowed up by his pupils. Bucky slides his fingers down the planes of Clint’s stomach, enjoying the shift of muscle underneath.

“I _mean_ ,” Bucky says in a no-nonsense voice to make sure Clint’s paying attention. “You should ask him out.”

“I- what?”

Bucky runs his fingertips over Clint’s half-hard dick in a feather-light touch, just teasing while he speaks. “You. Wilson. Dinner at eight at a nice restaurant with vegetarian options.”

“Uh huh,” Clint says, but Bucky can tell he’s not listening.

That’s his own fault for the bad timing, and he rectifies it by sliding down the bed and wrapping his lips around Clint’s dick. The noise Clint makes is fucking _delightful_ , a bitten-off whine that he tries to muffle by turning his face into the pillow, and Bucky’s practiced deep throating exactly for the purpose of getting a louder sound out of him.

“Clint,” he says, once Clint's melted into the mattress.

“Hrmm.”

“I’m serious about Sam.”

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not going to get a coherent reply out of Clint - his fault again, but also Clint’s fault for looking like _that_ \- and Clint rolls over in the bed, wraps himself around Bucky as much as he can. With how snuggly he is, it's a wonder he doesn't have octopus DNA. His nose ends up in Bucky’s armpit. He’s still sticky with lube and come and it’s gross but it’s also _Clint_ , so Bucky can live with it.

“You don’t mind?”

“It’d be pretty hypocritical of me if I did,” Bucky reasons, curling his hand over Clint’s hip. “Anyway, it’s cute. Be my guest.”

Clint makes a noncommittal noise and rubs his face against the spot where the metal arm joins Bucky’s skin. It tickles. Honestly, Bucky’d be pretty happy if Sam and Clint managed to get together. It’s a mix of wanting to wake up in bed with both of them and the fact that they’d fit well with each other, if they’re interested. Bucky should know. Sam will finally have someone to watch those cheesy romcoms he pretends he doesn't like with.

“So you _don’t_ want a threesome?”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, smacking at Clint’s ass and getting a squawk in response. “Is this what I get for being nice to you, Barton?”

“Hey look, it’s one of your family members,” Bucky notes, pointing over the shadows of the car to a pigeon roosting on a lamppost.

Sam grunts at him, unimpressed. His wings don’t fit in the cramped minivan properly so he’s been relegated to the backseat, although he’s leaning close enough that Bucky can feel Sam’s breath on his neck. For a second he expects Sam to _bite_ him but they’re on a mission and besides, that’d be giving Bucky what he wants. It’s never that easy.

“Don’t think I won’t kick you out of bed, Barnes,” Sam says eventually.

“Such a sweet talker, Wilson,” Bucky returns, still looking out into the street.

The girl they’re looking for hasn’t appeared yet.

They’ve been out here for five hours now and Bucky’s fairly sure she isn’t appearing _at all_ and that the tip was wrong, but it’s rare that the three of them end up on a mission together so he’s milking it anyway. (Especially because missions mean skintight suits.) Bucky’s not sure he cares about the mission at all, really. It’s just minor crime.

Sam’s still doing the silent treatment, so Bucky reaches back to poke him in the forehead without looking. This time he gets a warning scrape of teeth on his index finger and smirks, takes his hand back before Sam decides it’ll be more fun to bite him for real.

“Wanna make out?”

“No,” Sam says. “You want to be completely exposed and distracted when we’re in a dark alleyway waiting for a suspected murderer? It’s like you _want_ to be in a damn horror movie.”

“Your loss,” Bucky replies absently, propping his chin up with one hand.

The streetlights are flickering unreliably and it gives him a headache if he looks at them for too long. He glances up at the rearview mirror instead, catches Sam shifting in his seat. His shoulders are too wide for the cramped van - Bucky’s are too, but the driver’s seat is a hell of a lot more comfortable.

The door rattles and Clint slips into the backseat a second later. It forces Sam to shift to the side, but Clint just sidles in like he belongs there, juggling a drinks tray with one hand. His goggles are pushed up his forehead and it’s thrown his hair into even more disarray than usual. He looks like he’s lost a fight with a tornado.

“Did you see the target while you were out wandering the streets?”

“Nope! But I got coffee for you,” Clint says cheerfully.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Sam answers flatly.

Bucky glances back at them when the silence lingers, finds Sam staring out the front window again and Clint looking completely baffled. He can only imagine the thoughts going through Clint’s brain right now - finding out that there are people who don’t drink coffee, the _horror_. Sam continues to ignore him and Clint visibly deflates.

Bucky sighs and takes two of the cups. He saw Clint drink the entire pot before they left, for the sake of his heart he’s got to take one for the team. No one says anything for a few minutes and Bucky sighs.

“Hey,” he says, catches Clint’s eye in the mirror. “Wanna make out?”

Clint brightens visibly. “Sure.”

“ _Horny dumbasses_ ,” he thinks Sam mutters under his breath.

It takes a few days before he gets some decent alone time with Sam, and then Bucky gets distracted because there’s only so long he can go without touching.

Bucky’s not complaining, not even a little. It just means that while Clint’s happy enough to be pushed into a supply closet or the Quinjet bathroom for sex, Sam requires a little more romancing. That being said, romancing is a strong term for it. Sam at least wants privacy and a bed, most of the time (one time Bucky had blown him on a rooftop when Sam had flown him up there. It had been _fantastic_.)

“What do you think about Hawkeye?”

Sam gives him a raised eyebrow. To be fair, he’s right in the middle of sinking his lube-slick dick into Bucky’s ass, so maybe it’s weird timing. (It’s definitely weird timing.) To Sam’s credit, he doesn’t really question it. Instead he pushes Bucky’s leg up higher, eyes roaming over the play of muscle as he bottoms out.

Bucky loses his trail of thought instantly - it’s hard trying to keep his attention on _anything_ when Sam’s watching him with that dark, intense look, and it’s even worse when they’re fucking. It feels like Sam’s gonna eat him alive, sometimes. Bucky likes it, likes the slow teasing drag of Sam’s cock and the easy manhandling.

“Clint? He’s okay,” Sam answers, deceptively calm. “He grows on you. Why?”

“Uh,” Bucky says.

“Uh _what_?”

“Just - fuck, _harder_ \- just wondering.”

“Stop thinking about Barton while we’re fucking,” Sam says. “Do it in your own time.”

“You ever think about fucking _him?_ ”

Sam’s next thrust is a little harder, a little more punishing. His face doesn’t give anything away but his body does, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s telling the truth when he grits out a “ _no_ ” and pushes in deeper.

“He likes being tied up,” Bucky manages to gasp out, because that’s one thing Sam _likes_ that Bucky can’t give to him. He can imagine it when he closes his eyes, Clint stretched out on the bed with rope around his wrists and ankles, arching up into Sam’s touch.

“Stop talking or I’m making you jerk off in the bathroom,” Sam says, but he comes pretty quickly after that.

Interesting.

Bucky sits next to Wanda for movie night.

She eyes him for a few seconds and then shrugs, shifts so she’s sitting sideways with her back pressed against Vision and her fluffy pink socks tucked under Bucky’s thigh. She gives him her bowl of popcorn as well. Bucky’s pretty happy with this turn of events, and returns his gaze to Tony’s giant television for their viewing of The Mummy.

The popcorn’s tasty.

Bucky doesn’t actually see what happens in the first half hour of the movie - he knows they’re in Egypt, at least, and that Brendan Fraser guy isn’t too hard on the eyes - but mostly he’s keeping an eye on the couch that he situated deliberately so Sam and Clint are sharing.

Sam’s got one arm slung over the back of the couch, legs sprawled out comfortably. He’s got his attention focused on the movie. It sure isn’t focused on Clint, who started the movie at the other end of the couch and is now shifting closer. Bucky’s not even sure Clint knows he’s doing it - Clint’s also got his full focus on the screen and he smiles every time the girl (Evie?) comes onscreen.

Still, he’s a wriggly guy, and soon enough Clint ends up close enough that he’s touching Sam. Sam doesn’t even seem to notice.

Bucky glances back at the movie when the water starts running red and when he looks back, Clint’s put himself right in the spot where Sam’s arm is draped over him.

Sam’s fingers are absently curled against the curve of Clint’s shoulder, right against bare skin where his unzipped hoodie’s slipped down over his shoulder. It’s clear neither of them are really paying attention but it’s still _happening_ and Bucky’s heart catches in his throat for no reason other than the softness of the moment, the way Clint instinctively curls closer.

It’s just _nice_ , is what it is. Bucky’s a romantic at heart, and those are his two favourite people (not counting Steve.)

Then Steve chooses that moment to get a drink, which causes Tony to pause the movie, which causes Sam to snap out of his movie-watching trance and notice Clint, who’s half-asleep at this point and has _not_ noticed Sam noticing him.

“Barton,” Sam says. “ _Barton_.”

“...hmm?"

“There’s literally an entire couch. Stop taking up all the space, you’re not that big.”

Clint shifts obediently back to the opposite corner of the couch and stays there for the rest of the movie, the tiniest hint of a frown on his face.

Bucky makes a mental note to find the ingredients for pancakes tomorrow.

“What’re you watching?”

“Those two,” Natasha answers as she accepts a mug from Steve. They’re sitting on the balcony of the Compound in the spot where the sunlight hits perfectly, because both Natasha and Bucky are cats at heart.

Steve makes a curious noise and Natasha waves at a spot over on the massive lawn, where Sam and Clint are sitting on the grass together.

Sam’s been there for a few hours. It’s his chosen spot to tinker with his wings and suit because he’s convinced that if he does it inside, Tony will record it and start telling him how to improve everything. (No one has told him Tony has cameras outside too.)

Apparently Clint’s decided this is a good place to make another attempt to spend time with him. He’s not pushing in close this time, just sitting with a pile of arrows between them as he fiddles with some wiring. They’re not close enough to make out the words but the buzz of Clint’s voice is still audible, along with Sam occasionally replying.

They all watch as Clint springs to his feet with an arrow and his bow, aiming up at the Compound.

The arrow hits a little higher than their window and there’s a _clank_ and then a muffled _thump_ as it activates into a giant red hologrammed painting of Redwing. It’s backwards from their perspective but still recognizable, although there’s a glittery quality that Bucky’s not entirely sure about.

“So _that’s_ what he wanted the painting for,” Steve says thoughtfully.

“It hasn’t helped him,” Natasha comments.

Bucky looks back to see that Sam’s left the lawn somewhere between Clint shooting the arrow and now. Where he’s gone is a mystery, and Bucky’s not even sure that he noticed the hologram first. Clint turns around a second later and sags when he sees Sam’s left.

He picks up another arrow a second later and a life-size hologram of a dog appears. 

Then another. 

“How long until he gives up, do you think?”

“I’d give him a week,” Steve says absently. “Nothing shorter than that.”

“Twenty dollars says three weeks,” Natasha says. “Clint’s not exactly known for giving up. He could rival you in stubbornness.”

“You’re on.”

Natasha sighs. “They’re idiots.”

“Stop betting on my idiots,” Bucky says, kicking out at Natasha’s leg. “Anyway, fifty bucks says Sam doesn’t even _realize_ Clint’s flirting with him.”

“I thought we were going out for bubble tea,” Steve says.

“We are,” Bucky answers distractedly, pulls an extremely illegal U-turn and heads up a dirt road. “Just not right now.”

They end up on a cliff overlooking a park with a series of large metal enclosures, and Bucky pulls the car into park and begins rummaging underneath his seat. Steve’s silence feels distinctly baffled but he’s ignored - he only came along because he’s the perfect alibi, and Bucky finally gets ahold of the binoculars he’d smuggled in.

Steve speaks again once Bucky’s scanning the landscape below with the binoculars. “What are we doing here, exactly?”

“Supervising.”

That satisfies Steve for a full minute - longer than Bucky expects him to last, honestly. It’s enough of a window that Bucky finds what he’s looking for in the gap of silence, and _aha_. Perfect view, he’d been right about this spot. Scoping out things on Google Earth first is _great_.

“Supervising _what_?”

“Clint took Sam on a date to the bird sanctuary,” Bucky answers distractedly.

“Oh,” Steve says. “Isn’t this kind of… an invasion of their privacy?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says.

He watches through the binoculars as Clint points at something at the back of an enclosure. It’s too hard to see Sam’s expression from this angle, or even see if he replies to whatever it is that Clint says. Clint still looks perky though, so it can’t have gone bad yet. Maybe they’ll actually make it to the icecream place that was left advertised on Clint’s laptop where he’d left it in the kitchen.

“Pass the binoculars,” Steve says, making grabby hands until Bucky relents.

“Everything sucks,” Clint announces, falling face-first onto the bed.

Bucky doesn’t look up from his book. “Didn’t work, huh.”

“Nothing works,” Clint says. His voice is muffled by the sheets, so it sounds more like a jumble of vowels than actual words. “His face doesn’t _do_ anything either, he’s impossible to read.”

Bucky’s _so close_ to finishing this chapter. He needs to know if the main girl’s going to pick the best friend or the hot mysterious guy. If she was smart she’d just pick both, but these men seem boring and the writer doesn’t seem imaginative enough to suggest anything close to polyamory. Bucky hates it, but he also needs to know what happens.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” Clint says, rolling over. “He can barely spend five minutes with me without complaining about something I’ve done. I’m trying my best here. Am I unlovable? Bucky, are you just pretending to like me?”

Bucky snorts, turns a page of his book. “You think I’m that good of an actor?”

“...yeah, okay,” Clint says.

He wriggles around until he’s closer, and Bucky lifts his book so Clint can sprawl across his lap, legs curling close. A sigh follows and warm breath on Bucky’s hip where his shirt’s ridden up a little.

Then he puts the book back down on the curve of Clint’s spine and continues to read.

Clint sighs again.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll give you a handjob,” Bucky says.

“I don’t feel like having sex,” Clint replies tonelessly.

_That_ makes Bucky put the book down.

“You broke my boyfriend,” Bucky accuses when he gets in the kitchen the next morning.

“I _am_ your boyfriend,” Sam answers dryly from his spot in the armchair.

“Fix him, Wilson. I don’t care what this whole,” and he waves a hand at Sam for emphasis, “ _thing_ is about. If you’re not interested in dating him you _tell_ him and he’ll back off, don’t do this standoffish shit with him. He’s soft.”

“He’s not _soft_ ,” Sam says and then trails off into silence, staring into space.

He stays silent for so long that Bucky manages to scramble his eggs, season them and pour himself a mug of coffee. It’s only when Bucky sits down on the couch next to Sam’s armchair that he seems to click back into reality, and Bucky’s starting to worry that _both_ his boyfriends are broken.

(If they are, he’d have to hang out with Steve and Natasha all day which, ew. He'd have to start liking classical music and... intellectual literature.)

“Wait. He was trying to _date_ me?”

Oh god.

“...yes,” Bucky says. “And you shot him down with every attempt. What did you think he was trying to do?”

“Figured it was for a prank or something. I don’t know. It’s Barton, he does a lot of weird things,” Sam replies. He looks extremely calm from the outside, maybe a little annoyed.

It’s _too_ calm to be genuine though. Bucky wonders what’s going on inside of his brain. How did he _not know_ that Clint was trying to date him? This is more dire than Bucky had thought. Sam’s supposed to be the smart one, what the hell happened?

Sam gets out of the armchair. “I was supposed to meet Natasha for training.”

It’s a terrible excuse.

“Uh huh,” Bucky says. “Do something about Clint.”

He’d been _joking_ when he’d said that Sam wouldn’t have noticed, when he was talking to Natasha and Steve earlier in the week. Clearly he’s overestimated Sam altogether.

Bucky sighs and eats his breakfast.

Clint appears in his peripherals at two in the afternoon, (Bucky’s) pajama pants slipping down his hips on one side and wearing his mission gear from the waist up. He looks sleepy and disoriented, and Bucky regrets telling him to go after Sam. Maybe it’d been a mistake. He hadn’t really expected Sam to be such an idiot about it, though. Foresight would’ve been a handy superpower.

“Did you accidentally text me from Sam’s phone?”

“Nope,” Bucky replies. “Why?”

“...huh,” Clint says, tucks his phone in his vest pocket. He starts wandering down the corridor to the back exit.

Bucky gets up and follows after a minute because the curiosity is killing him, and before he gets around the corner he hears Clint’s gasp, speeds up. Tony’s coming around the corner at the same time he is and they share a slightly bewildered look before heading outside.

“What-” Tony starts.

“Shh,” Natasha says, leaning up against the door frame.

He shouldn’t have been that worried about Sam, apparently.

Clint’s got honest-to-god hearts in his eyes as he keeps his arm steady for the bird perched on it. “Oh my god,” he says softly as the hawk tilts its head to inspect Clint’s bracer. “He’s beautiful.”

“She,” Sam says. “She’s a common black hawk.”

“She’s beautiful,” Clint corrects without missing a beat, still watching the bird.

The hawk makes a curious beeping noise at him and shuffles up Clint’s arm to his shoulder. Bucky’s a little worried about the claws and the sharp curve of her beak, but the bird just starts preening through Clint’s mess of blond strands without missing a beat. Bucky understands the urge. Clint’s safe, he’s got enough padding on his suit that it won’t scratch him.

His smile, though. That’s something beautiful.

Sam’s expression doesn’t change.

Clint looks like he’s having a religious experience. “Does she like pizza? Sam, I think I’m in love.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “About that.”

“Shooting him down after handing him a live hawk,” Tony comments. “Harsh.”

“Nah, Wilson isn’t tactful enough for that,” Bucky says, as Sam grabs Clint’s face and tugs him into a hard kiss. He manages to do it without dislodging the bird either, which is twice as impressive.

Sam lets go and even from here, Bucky can see Clint’s delighted smile before he goes in for another.

It’s sweet.

“Guess your job is done here,” Natasha says.

“Maybe,” Bucky answers.

He's okay with that.

“Get over here, Barnes,” Sam calls.

Eh, maybe not.


End file.
